


Neighbours

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, 221C Baker Street, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, BAMF John, Confusion, Distrust, Explicit Sexual Content, Eyes In A Box, House Meetings, Kissing, M/M, Mould - Freeform, Silly, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 12:34:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5206088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets a new neighbour and looks for a case in the disruption. When there isn’t one, things take a different turn.</p><p>Note: We are not experts in mould.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Tenant in C

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

John couldn't believe he was moving right into the heart of London. When he had first seen the listing of the basement flat, he hadn't held much hope for it. He was banking on the fact that it was a basement to take the cost down a bit, but at the end of the day, the location would up its price. He went in and asked about it on a whim. The woman was very nice about it, giving him a quick tour of the place. She was just about to warn John about the neighbour when he heard gun shots ringing loudly. He covered the woman to protect her until he realised that she was fussing like a mother. Apparently that was a normal occurrence that she has been fighting against for months. John was stunned at first and wondered why she didn't just kick the obnoxious tenant out, but then she lowered the cost considerably since John would be dealing with him as well. In that case, John decided, the man could stay as long as he wanted. 

It wasn't long before John signed the papers and started moving his things in. He didn't have much so it really didn't take long, but he had hired movers to get the big things. He was standing in the hall now, directing the men where to go and trying to stay out of their way. Mrs Hudson bustled around with tea and biscuits, and John looked up the steps to the other flat. 

"Oh, I wouldn't, dear. He's not the friendly type," she said quietly as he went to her own flat. 

John looked up at the door again and headed up the stairs. There was no harm in introducing himself. If they never spoke again, that would be fine. But they were sharing a building now so why not? He knocked loudly on the door and stepped back to wait. 

Sherlock opened the door. He looked at the man who had knocked -- he had no idea who he was and, in truth, had no interest either.

"Uh, hi. I'm John, I'm moving in downstairs. I just wanted to say hello," John said. He stuck his hand out to shake.

The name John meant nothing to Sherlock. He did not know this man and had no reason to. He shut the door and went back to his desk.

John blinked at the door for a moment. "Right." He turned and headed back down the stairs to find Mrs Hudson looking amused.

"I told you. I can speak to him if you like," she said.

"No," John said quickly. "No, it's fine."

He went back into his own flat and moved a few things around, trying to get a head start on organising the place. 

Sherlock had already forgotten about the interruption. He was working on a case and was just about finished with his preliminary research. Once it was all together, he got his coat and headed out. He loved this feeling -- not knowing the answer yet but knowing precisely where to start.


	2. John Settles In

The next three weeks passed very quickly for John. He was working more hours at the surgery while trying to get his flat sorted and taken care of at the same time. He was sleeping badly because his new neighbor kept odd hours -- coming in and going out at all times of the day, playing the violin at midnight, and sometimes causing random explosions. It was a lot to try to work around. And occasionally, Mrs Hudson would let herself in to John's flat, bringing snacks and tidying up. She insisted that this was a habit from looking after Sherlock, who he realised must be the man upstairs. John wasn't going to stop her because he was getting such a good deal on the flat he didn't want to upset her.  
  
He was quite surprised how many visitors such a rude man received. Sometimes it was normal adults, going up to Sherlock's flat anywhere from minutes to a couple hours at a time. Sometimes it was a homeless person late at night. John wondered what was going on up there, his imagination running wild. He tried to get information out of Mrs Hudson but she just kept muttering about experiments and cases. John didn't understand.  
  
John never actually saw Sherlock. When he left, it was quickly out the door and when he came back, John was either out or sleeping. They hadn't spoken at all since John's first attempt when he was moving in. Today, though, it seemed he wouldn't have a choice. He had gone out for his post and was intrigued by a box that had been delivered. He set it on his table and used a knife to open it, after fighting with the tape for ten minutes. When he finally got it open, he shouted out. It was a glass jar filled with human eyeballs. Even in his shock John noticed it was upside down. That explained the trouble he had opening the box. He carefully reached in and flipped the jar to find a note on top.  
  
_Hope this is enough, I couldn't sneak more. I wanted to keep suspicion down. I'm sure they'll calm down soon enough. See you soon. Molly_  
  
John blinked at the note. What was this? Who was sending eyeballs? Where did they come from? Who would calm down? John didn't know what to do first. This must be Sherlock's. Well, this was the last straw. He was going to find out what was going on up there once and for all. He scooped up the box and headed upstairs, pounding on the door.

Sherlock was on his sofa, tearing the newspaper into small bits and dropping them onto the floor. He was bored. It'd been ten days since he'd had a proper case and all of his avenues were exhausted. So now he was exhausted -- with boredom. Suddenly there was a bang on the door. He sat up and looked over. For some reason, he felt sure that whoever was on the other side of the door was sure to have something he needed. He got up.

He opened the door and looked at the man standing there. The face looked slightly familiar. He scanned his brain until he found it: the short, friendly man named John. He'd been wrong. This man had nothing Sherlock needed. He shut the door.

"Hey!" John shouted, kicking at the door again. "Why are you being sent eyeballs?" he called through the door.

Sherlock opened the door and looked at the box in the man's hand. "Why do you have my package?" he asked, but before the man answered, Sherlock grabbed the box from him and shut the door again.

John huffed and pounded on the door again. "You're welcome!" he shouted before storming off again.  
  
"What is happening?" Mrs Hudson asked, who'd rushed out and was now halfway up the stairs.  
  
"He got eyes! Eyeballs in the post!" John said.  
  
"Oh, I hope he doesn't microwave them again -- the mess was awful . . ."  
  
John gaped at her. "What?"  
  
"I'd better check," she said, walking past John and going up, knocking softly before going in.

This was really a madhouse, John thought. He headed down to his own flat again and shut the door.

Sherlock heard another knock at the door and decided just to ignore it, until he saw Mrs Hudson coming in. "And what do you want?" he asked.

"Don't be rude to me, Sherlock Holmes," she said stepping in. She saw the box on the chair and then noticed the newspaper all over the floor. She rushed over and tried to at least put it into a pile. "Why are you making such a mess?"

"I wasn't," he said as if just saying the words disproved the evidence they were now both looking at. "I was bored but I am no longer." He scooped the box into his hands and moved to put in on the table. "I'll be working so feel free to, you know . . . get out."

She carried the newspaper shreds into the kitchen and dumped them into the bin. "Please do not harass the new tenant. I need someone in there," she said, trying not to look at the jar.

"What new tenant?"

"The man you were just harassing."  
  
"I didn't --" Sherlock started but then thought for a moment. She must be referring to Friendly John. "I was not harassing him." He looked at the jar, muttering. "He better not have opened this." He set it back down and turned to her. "Why aren't you down there telling him off? He's the one opening my packages. That's illegal, you know. Should I have him arrested?" He kind of liked teasing Mrs Hudson like this.  
  
"Sherlock! He's a nice man -- please, just leave him alone."

He turned to put the kettle on. "Mail tampering is not nice, Mrs Hudson. Don't be so easily swayed by good looks -- the man is a criminal."

"He is not!" she said. "So . . ." she added. "You think he's good looking?"

"What are you talking about?" he asked. He held up a cup to see if she wanted tea, but she shook her head no. "I don't know anything about him except for the fact he has no respect for the laws of our country." He poured his tea and turned back to the table. "Now didn't you say something about getting out of here?"

"He's a nice man, Sherlock, a doctor -- you should go introduce yourself properly," she said. "You, on the other hand, are not a nice man so I'm leaving. Please don't create more than your usual mess."

"I make no promises," he said as he watched her go. A nice man? What did Sherlock need with a nice man? He turned back the jar and started to work.

Downstairs John couldn't focus. Why would he be microwaving eyes? What was going on here? Half of him wanted to go back up and demand answers, but another half was worried that his eyes would be scooped out next. He sank down on the couch and tried not to think about it. Then there was a soft knock and Mrs Hudson came back in.  
  
"John? Don't worry about the eyes, okay?"  
  
John just stared at her like she was crazy.  
  
"He has a friend in the morgue and the experiments keep him from shooting the walls so . . .so that's all. Do you need anything?"  
  
John shook his head and watched her leave. Who experimented on eyes for fun?

Sherlock worked for a few hours before he sat down to organise his notes. He needed to save some work for tomorrow in case he was still bored. He tidied up and made himself a new cup of tea, before going to sit down on the sofa.  
  
He kind of wished Mrs Hudson would come up and see that he hadn't made any mess. It was stupid -- this was his flat, he didn't really have to obey anything she said. Which made him think about the new tenant.

Who was he and why had he opened the box? It seemed pretty outrageous the more he thought about it. For such a so-called nice man, he didn't make a very good first impression. Or perhaps he made the exact impression he wanted: establishing himself as Sherlock's enemy. Was he working for someone who hated Sherlock?

He pushed himself up off the sofa and went downstairs to find out. He pounded on the door marked C.

John jumped at the sound. He had been dozing on the sofa, and the loud knocking had startled him. He pushed himself up and went to the door, pulling it open and staring up at Sherlock. "If you're here for my eyes, I'll have you know I was trained in the army and could easily take you down," he said.

Interesting opening line, Sherlock thought. "What's your full name, please?" he asked.

"Oh, now you're interested?" John scoffed. "No. You can leave, thanks." He shut the door and stepped back away from it.

Sherlock knocked on the door again. "Please. John . . ." he said loudly.

John hesitated. Then he opened the door again. "Why do you want to know?"

"Just being friendly," Sherlock said. "John . . .?" he asked again.

John narrowed his eyes. "It's going to take more than that," he said carefully.

"Fine. And you know me from . . . how again do you know me?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know you," John said. "I tried when I first moved in and you wanted no part in it."

Sherlock squinted his eyes skeptically. He tried to look inside. "Are you going to invite me in then?" he asked.

"No, I don't think I will," he said. He shut the door again, waiting close by. He was even more intrigued now, but he was still a bit confused by everything that had been going on.

Sherlock turned. Friendly John did not seem so friendly anymore.


	3. A Proper Introduction

The next morning, Sherlock was up experimenting again. He was getting a lot of information and quite enjoying himself as well. He kept his laptop open with his Inbox showing, hoping that a case would come through. But by the time he'd finished with everything, taken his notes, and cleaned up after himself, there was nothing new.

He was bored again.

He thought about yesterday and his new neighbour. He still wasn't convinced this so-called nice man was all Mrs Hudson thought he was. It seemed a little strange that he just turned up out of nowhere, happy to take a flat that was filled with mould. He got up and put his coat on, heading out and returning back with a bundle of flowers in his hand. He went down to C and knocked again on the door.

John was home by lunch -- another perk about this building -- when he heard the knock at the door. He had a feeling he knew who it was, and he was not surprised to see Sherlock there again. He was surprised to see the flowers, however, and didn't know what to make of that. "Are you experimenting on plants as well, then?" he asked.

"No, they're a housewarming present," Sherlock said. "I apologise for my previous impoliteness. Welcome to the building." He handed John the flowers.

John blinked in surprise. "Oh." He took the flowers and stepped to the side a bit. "Um . . .do you want to come in?"

"Thank you," Sherlock said and reminded himself to smile. He stepped in and looked around. There was a small desk so he casually moved over to it, trying to read the papers on top. "Tea?" he asked.

John watched Sherlock moving to the desk. He moved over there as well and packed up everything, shutting the lid of the laptop as well. "I can make some," he said. He put the flowers in a tall glass of water before starting the kettle. "Quite the change of heart," John said.

So he did have something to hide, Sherlock thought. "Well, I'm a fickle man," he said, moving towards the kitchen. "When I'm focused on my work, I find distractions . . . distracting."

"Well, I don't think a quick introduction would have been that distracting," John said. He poured the tea and brought a mug out to Sherlock. "And now you're . . .snooping?" he asked, raising his brows.

"Sorry," Sherlock said, trying to sound genuine. "I suppose I'm not as good at friendliness as you clearly are." He took the tea, nodding thanks, and then sat down. "How are you finding it here?" he asked.

John nodded and sat at his desk facing Sherlock. "It's good. Close to work, so that's nice. Usually quiet," he teased, throwing a pointed look at Sherlock.

"And you're a police officer?" Sherlock said, taking a sip of tea.

"What? No," John said, shaking his head. "I'm a doctor."

"A doctor?" Sherlock said. "You must be clever."

John shrugged. "I like to think so," he smiled.

"Good," Sherlock said. "I prefer living around clever people. So . . . where did you live before?"

"Well, I was in the army for a few years so I was abroad, and now I live here." John sipped on his tea and watched Sherlock. "What about you? What's with the eyes?"

"I'm an artist," Sherlock said. "Army, eh? And you were injured?"

John narrowed his eyes. "I'm not sure I believe you," he admitted. "Yes, I was." He added the last part quickly and focused on his tea again. It wasn't something he liked talking about.

"I see," Sherlock said. "Are you working at the moment? Well, obviously not at the moment, unless you work from home, which would be odd for a doctor -- did you say you were still a practising doctor?"

"I am a practising doctor and I've got the afternoon off," he said. "What kind if 'art' do you make with eyeballs?"

"I do illustrations for medical textbooks," Sherlock said. "So we have that in common. And now we live in the same building. Quite a coincidence, don't you think? And your wife lives here with you?"

"I'm not married," John said. He sipped the last of his tea. "And your wife? Does she mind the eyeballs?"

"I'm afraid she did," Sherlock said. "Which is why she left me."

John wasn't sure if he believed that either, but in case it was true he didn't want to upset him. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said.

"Well, I'm coping," Sherlock said. "She left me for a doctor, but I won't hold that against you." He took a sip of tea.

"Are you making that up?" John couldn't help asking now.

"It's hard to say," Sherlock said, smiling. "I'm around a lot of strong chemicals and I occasionally find myself a bit confused." He finished his tea and then stood up. "Well, perhaps I've taken up enough of your time."

John shook his head and stood up. "I'm not busy, but I'm sure you must be. You could have been honest, but that's okay. We're strangers after all," he said.

"What makes you think I've not been honest?" Sherlock said, looking over John's face to see what he could read.

"You're saying a lot of odd things," he said.

"I'm a very odd man," Sherlock said. "Could I get your surname now -- I mean I could just ask Mrs Hudson, but I wouldn't want to be accused of snooping."

"I'll tell you when you've told me something honest."

"Fine," Sherlock said. "I came down here to find out why a handsome man like yourself moved into a shitty flat full of mould." Well, it was honest, if not the whole story.

John startled a bit, his cheeks burning lightly at the compliment. He really hadn't expected that. "I -- my surname is Watson."

"John Watson," Sherlock said, smiling. "My name is Sherlock Holmes." He held out his hand to shake.

John shook his hand, gazing up at his face. Had he always been this handsome? It seemed more than that, somehow. "It's nice to properly meet you," he said.

"Yes, this was much nicer, wasn't it?" Sherlock said, moving towards the door. "Goodbye then, John Watson."

"Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes." The second the door was closed John was on his computer again, Googling the name. There was no way this guy was an artist.

Sherlock made his way to the stairs when Mrs Hudson's door opened. "Were you harassing Dr Watson?" she said in a hushed tone.

"I was doing no such thing," Sherlock said, pausing. "I was only try to be a friendly neighbour."  
  
"What are you up to?" she asked.

"The question, Mrs Hudson, is what is he up to," he said and then rushed upstairs. He made himself a cup of tea and sat down at his desk to Google John Watson.

Downstairs, John found Sherlock's name appeared in a couple articles, explaining how he had solved a big murder case or testified against a criminal. Some artist, John scoffed to himself. The next big thing was the science website where Sherlock droned on about making deductions and how they were as good as scientific evidence. He had a whole section on tobacco ash -- John clicked it until he saw there were over two hundred. If everything in this site was true, Sherlock probably knew more about John than he had let on, and definitely more than Sherlock had shared. He didn't like that one bit.

Upstairs, Sherlock read a few things about John's medical background and then stumbled across his blog which only had a few entries and which didn't reveal much at all. Well, to anyone else, it wouldn't reveal much. But to Sherlock it revealed a lot -- like John Watson was clearly working too hard to seem like he was a boring, average man, when clearly he was not. Now Sherlock just needed to figure out what Watson wanted from him.

He stood up and looked around for the box Molly had used for the jar. He emptied it of the newspapers she'd used to pad it. On a piece of paper he wrote:

_Surely, Dr Watson, you know that I am not a man who likes games. Whatever it is you are looking for, why not just come upstairs and ask for it?  
SH_

He put it in the box and went downstairs, setting it outside John's door. He rushed back upstairs.

A few minutes later, he heard a knock at the door.

"A package's come," Mrs Hudson said when he opened it. "It's got no name on it so I assumed it was for you and I didn't open it because I didn't fancy getting shouted at again."

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock shouted. "Why must you always . . ." he stopped himself and took the package from her. "Thank you very much, Mrs Hudson," he said sweetly. And then he shut the door. He stood there waiting to hear her footsteps down the stairs and then her own door shut. He opened his a few inches and peeked out. He moved quietly down the stairs, put the box outside C, tapped the wood and then rushed back up to his flat.

John shut the laptop quickly, staring at the door as if afraid Sherlock would come busting into his flat. He sighed and stood, looking out and noticing the box. Frowning, he examined it without bringing it inside. When he read the note, he frowned even more. What was happening here? What did Sherlock think he was doing? Was he trying to flirt?

John headed upstairs. He knocked loudly and waited.

Sherlock opened the door. "I'm glad you've come," he said as he stepped back, inviting John inside.

John hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. The place was messy. There were beakers and jars of different things all over his table and, in some places, on the floor. There were papers and newspapers all over the place. There were boxes with different science magazines and other sorts John didn't recognise. "Um . . . nice place," John said.

"Art supplies," Sherlock said, dismissively waving his hand around. "So . . . I see you've opened someone else's parcel again," he said, glancing at the box.

"What?" John asked, putting the box down. "This is the same one as before -- you left it with this note. For me."

"True, John Watson, I did," Sherlock said. "Well?"

John blinked at him. "Well what?"

"What is that you find interesting about me then?" Sherlock asked. He sat down in his chair and motioned for John to sit down as well.

John moved and, after examining the chair closely, sat down in the one across from Sherlock. "I'm not sure I understand -- why do you think I want something from you?" John asked. There were a lot of things that he found interesting about Sherlock, but he wasn't just going to start listing them off.

"You moved into this building, didn't you? You're opening my post. You don't think those things say something?"

John laughed now. "I didn't move into this building because of you! And the first box was an accident," he said. "You left this one for me, outside of my own door."

Sherlock looked over at John. He was sure John was hiding something. He decided to try a different approach.

"Yes, I'm sorry," Sherlock said. "I'm afraid I'm quite awkward when it comes to social interaction. I apologise. Anyway, I'm glad you've come up for a little visit. Shall we be friends then?"

"Um, yeah," John nodded. "Yeah, we can be friends. Does that mean that I can finally have some tea?" he teased. 

"Of course, yes, sorry," Sherlock said, getting up and moving to the kitchen. "So . . . what do friends talk about these days?" he added awkwardly.

John looked around the room a bit more closely now that Sherlock wasn't here. "Oh, just ordinary things . . . relationships, work, the news . . ." he listed distractedly. 

"Well, would you like to start?" Sherlock said, bringing over the tea. "As I said, I'm not very skilled at this." He sat down again and looked over, watching John's face.

"Well, I've already told you a lot of it. I am a single doctor," he said. "I haven't met anyone yet, no plans for a date or anything, and I am working a lot of hours." He sipped on his tea and looked around again. "Maybe, now that we're friends and all, you can tell me about your life. Honestly." 

"I should confess -- I don't have a wife and never have," Sherlock said. "I suppose I'm not interested much in that business . . . women, I mean. I am quite busy with my work, which I'm sure you know all about, and as you also now know, I am not very good with people."

John sighed softly and sipped more tea, leaning back to get comfortable. "I don't know anything about your work. I am very confused," he said. "I think . . . you might be a scientist?" he asked. He didn't mention the blog yet. 

Sherlock looked a bit skeptical but said, "Yes, I suppose I'm a scientist. And a detective." He looked over at his workspace. "I like . . . knowing things. Figuring things out." He looked over towards John again. "Like you. I'd like to figure you out."

"There's nothing to figure out. I've told you everything already," he said.

"No, you haven't," Sherlock said. "Which is fine -- we're strangers, right? Well, I mean we're also friends now apparently, but we're new friends so obviously you've not told me everything." He glanced at John's shoulder. "You've not told me about your injury or why you want everyone to believe you're boring or why. . . you don't wear a moustache -- there are a million things about you you have yet to tell me." He took a sip of tea. "And those are the things I'd like to figure out."

John shifted uncomfortably. "I really don't know what you mean. I'm not pretending to be boring or -- what did you say about a moustache?" He sat up and set his mug down. "I don't know what is going on here but I just . . . I just want to be friendly. Not investigated or interrogated. Maybe I should go." He stood and headed for the door.

Sherlock jumped up. "I'm sorry, again," he said. "Look -- we don't have to be friends. If you'd rather I just leave you alone, I will. I don't know quite what's happened . . . why this matters. . ." He reached out his hand. "It was nice to meet you and I'm sorry . . ."

"I don't mind being friends," John said. "But . . .I really don't think that's what you want." He looked up at Sherlock. "What do you want from me, Sherlock?" This was definitely not flirting.

Sherlock held John's gaze for a moment and thought -- what did he want? Did he really believe John came here just to stalk him? How realistic was that? Was all of this just because he was bored? "I don't know, John," he said honestly. "I'm sorry. I will leave you alone if you'd like."

John sighed softly. "It was nice meeting you, Sherlock Holmes." John turned and left, heading back to his own flat and shutting the door softly. He felt a bit deflated and sad in a way he couldn't quite explain.

Sherlock flopped onto the sofa. What was he doing? He got up again and went to his laptop to check his email. He needed a case -- a real one. The case of Friendly John the Suspicious New Neighbour was confusing him too much.

There was nothing in his Inbox. He sent a quick note to Lestrade, letting him know he was in between cases and could assist as needed. He heard a noise on the steps and looked up when Mrs Hudson let herself in.

"Well?" she said.

"You should knock," he said.

She rolled her eyes and said, "Are you boys getting on then? Do you like him?"

"Who?" he asked, even though he knew who, and what, she meant.

"Dr Watson," she said. "Did you ask him on a date?"

"I'm not interested in dating," he said. "As you well know."

"Well, you can't live your whole life only interested in this," she said, waving her arm around at his mess.

"I'm interested in many, many things, Mrs Hudson," he said, shutting his laptop and standing up. "But your man Watson is not one of them." He headed to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

She walked over near his desk, quickly flipped open the top and clicked his browsing history. "John Watson," she read, "John Watson London, John Watson doctor, John Watson Afghanistan." She turned. "Sherlock Holmes, you are the world's worst liar."

"Mrs Hudson, step away from my desk right now or I will sue for your invasion of privacy," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. The only thing he hated more than not knowing something was being caught out.

She held up her hands and slowly backed away from the desk. "All right, copper, don't shoot," she said, grinning stupidly. "You are so interested in John Watson and you know it." She dropped her hands and moved into the kitchen to take over tea duties. "Was he in Afghanistan?"

"I am not," Sherlock said as he sat down at the table. "And yes, he was."

"Why don't you just ask him out?" she said.

"Because I'm --" Sherlock started but then stopped. "Don't you think it's a little odd that he suddenly appears out of nowhere and takes a horrible flat in my building? Do you really think that's pure coincidence?"

"A. It's not a horrible flat and B. Not everything in the world is all about you, you know," she said, setting down his mug.

"Everything in my world is," he said, taking a sip.

"Yes, and did you ever think that might be why you are all alone?" she said back.

"I choose to be alone, Mrs Hudson," he said but found himself unable to look over at her.

They were silent for a few moments.

"Do you think he likes you?" she finally asked quietly.

"I doubt it," Sherlock said. "I don't make very good first, second or third impressions, do I?"

She was quiet again as she finished her tea. When she set the cup down, she stood up and said, "House meeting at seven. At my place. It's required. Read your lease if you can find it in this mess. You agreed to my requirements and today's requirement is a house meeting. See you then." She turned and left.

This seemed like a very bad idea to Sherlock, but he knew he would be there.

Mrs Hudson went downstairs, fussing her hair for a second and then knocked on the door to C.

John glanced at the door and weighed his options. Was it Sherlock? Was he back to harass him or apologise? Was he going to ask him out? John flushed at the stupid idea and stood up to find out. He was surprised to see Mrs Hudson. "Oh, hello," he said.

"Hello, Dr Watson," she said smiling. "I'd like to invite you for dinner -- nothing big, just a welcome to the building -- please say yes, I don't mean to impose but you know . . . I've got no family in the area and it would be nice just to have a little company. . ." She worried she was laying it on a bit thick, but this needed to work.

John was just processing the invitation when she started with a bit of a guilt trip, so he tried to cut her off from adding more. "Yes, fine," he said quickly. "Yes, I'll come." He glanced up at the stairs but didn't ask if Sherlock would be there as well.

"Good, thank you," she said. "You've made an old woman very happy. Seven o'clock?"

"Yes, that works," he nodded. "Should I bring anything?"

"No," she said. "Everything's set -- it's nothing special, just . . . it'll be nice to cook one of my old recipes." She said goodbye and headed back to her place, waiting a few moments before grabbing her handbag and heading out to the shops.


	4. House Meeting 1

John closed the door and went in to take a shower. He wondered if this was a trick from Sherlock as well, a way to accuse him of imposing. Or, on the other hand, perhaps Sherlock was using this as a way to get John into a date without asking himself? He did say he wasn't good at these things. Why was John so determined to make him out to be flirting? Maybe he wasn't at all, and John just wanted him to be. He shook the thought from his head and got dressed, getting ready slowly so he wouldn't arrive early. At ten to seven he went across the hall and knocked.

Sherlock heard the knock on Mrs Hudson's door. So John had agreed as well. Of course, he would, what with his being so friendly and all. Why did Sherlock keep saying that like it was a curse? He did his best not to glance at himself in the mirror -- doing so would prove that how he looked mattered which it did not -- and opened his own door to go downstairs.

Mrs Hudson opened her door to both of them. "Oh, you came together, how nice," she said, leading them in.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood still, letting John enter first.

John glanced at Sherlock and didn't bother with a protest. "It smells good," he said instead.

Sherlock smiled. So John was turning on the charm . . . well, two could play that game. "Yes, it does," he said, moving over and giving Mrs Hudson a little hug. "I've missed your cooking," he added.

She pushed him away. "Make some tea," she told him, leading John into the sitting room.

Sherlock put the kettle on, noticing that she already had everything set out on the tray. He took a deep breath, filled the pot and carried the tray into the other room.

"Sit on the sofa, Sherlock," she instructed.

He put the tray on the table and sat down. Next to John.

"So," John said a bit awkwardly.

"Have you had a good afternoon?" Sherlock asked no one in particular, just throwing the question into the air.

John glanced at him and then at Mrs Hudson, but she didn't answer. "Um, yeah. It was a good day. How about you?"

"Mine was all right," Sherlock said. "I had a guest but he didn't stay long. I'm afraid I was rather impolite to him. Unintentionally, of course."  
  
Mrs Hudson jumped in. "Yes, well, you sometimes are," she said before turning to John and adding, "But he's really a lovely person -- deep down. Deep, deep down."  
  
Sherlock turned to John and smiled smugly.

John flushed and felt like they had planned some sort of attack. "I don't -- what is going on? Are you in on this, too?" he asked Mrs Hudson. "I'm not a spy or a criminal or anything, I swear."

"Of course not," Mrs Hudson said. "I'm sorry, John, I don't know what he's been telling you . . . Sherlock, what have you done?"

Sherlock pulled an innocent face. "I've done nothing. I'm not the one opening other people's post."

"Oh shut up about that now," Mrs Hudson said. "All right, everyone, stop being so childish," she said glaring at Sherlock. She turned to John. "I'm sorry -- I really just thought the three of us could have dinner together. That's all I wanted."

"He's investigating me or something," John complained childishly.

"I am not!" Sherlock said in an equally childish manner.

"Oh my god, the two of you . . " Mrs Hudson sighed. "Dr Watson, Sherlock investigates everyone. That's what he does. He investigates . . . consider it his way of flirting."

Sherlock's face reddened.

She continued, "He is the smartest man you will ever meet but he is also a bit of an idiot on occasion, so I beg your apology on his behalf." She turned to Sherlock. "Dr Watson has now made clear he is not a criminal or spy. We can call off the investigation, right?"

Sherlock said nothing.

A bell rang in the other room. "It's time to eat," Mrs Hudson said, standing up. "Come in here, boys."  
  
Sherlock stood silently and followed her into the kitchen.

John stood up and followed, feeling a bit embarrassed. He must have moved into the strangest building in London.

Sherlock sat down as Mrs Hudson served the food. She put a very small amount on his plate, for which he was very grateful. Once everyone had sat down and started eating, he said, "I feel like I can't say anything without it sounding like I'm investigating so I'm not going to say anything."

Mrs Hudson shot him a glance and then said, "So Dr Watson, tell us about yourself."

John glanced at Sherlock before answering. "I only recently came back from my tour in Afghanistan. I was a medic and surgeon. Now I work at the surgery," he said. "This is very good," he added.

"Thank you," Mrs Hudson said.

"He was injured," Sherlock said.

John looked at Sherlock again, and Mrs. Hudson also shot him a glare.

"You aren't damaged," Sherlock said, looking over at him.

John felt his cheeks warm, and he looked down at his food. "Sherlock isn't quite as forthcoming with information," he said instead of responding to what Sherlock had said.

"He's had his own battles," Mrs Hudson said.

Sherlock looked at her and then said, "I'm a consulting detective. Clients find me and I occasionally work for the police. I could use the advice of a doctor from time to time, perhaps you could offer your services?"

Mrs Hudson smiled. "That'd be nice," she said, as she focused on her food.

"So this is a job interview, then?" John smiled to show he was teasing. "I could try to help, if you need it," he added.

"Do you mind crime scenes?" Sherlock asked. "Blood, bodies and whatnot?"

"Sherlock, not at dinner," Mrs Hudson scolded.

"I don't mind that stuff," John said.

"And danger? Are you keen on danger?" Sherlock asked.

John stared at him for a long moment. "Yes," he nodded.

"Then you may be the perfect man," Sherlock said. "For the job."  
  
Mrs Hudson smiled.

John smiled softly. "Great," he said.

They finished the meal and the conversation was a bit more comfortable. John seemed all right and Mrs Hudson, despite her enthusiasm, didn't annoy Sherlock too much. They helped her wash up the dishes and had another cup of tea. When it seemed like the evening was wrapping up, Sherlock stood and said he was going upstairs.

John felt like he should go as well -- as if Mrs. Hudson's comment about them arriving together meant they had to also leave together. John followed Sherlock towards the door, thanking her for the lovely dinner. In the hall John moved towards his own door, pausing in the frame. "If you wanted to go on a date, you only had to ask," he said before he got inside and shut his door quickly. If that hadn't been the point, then he had made a stupid mistake. If it was . . . maybe it would be okay.

Sherlock's face went hot again but luckily John was gone so he hurried up the stairs and into his own flat. He had thought the meal had gone well but now he was cursing Mrs Hudson and her stupid matchmaking. Now John thought Sherlock had been behind all this. It was humiliating.

John leaned against the door for a moment before moving away to change into pajamas. As he did he noticed something on the wall, in a crease by the door. He picked at it and wrinkled his nose. Mould. Hoping it was nothing serious, he changed and got into bed. It was a bit early but he knew it would be a while before he fell asleep. He had a lot to think about tonight.

Sherlock went upstairs and into his bedroom and lay down on his bed. Just a few days ago, he hadn't known John Watson and life seemed so much simpler. Now he had a friendly doctor downstairs who thought Sherlock was in love with him and a landlady who was the cause of all this trouble. All Sherlock had wanted was to be sure he and his jar of eyeballs could be left alone. And now all of this had happened. He lay there quietly for a few moments. That was it. In the morning he would put his foot down -- Mrs Hudson would need to stop this right now and, as far as Sherlock was concerned, he need never see Dr John Watson again.

Sherlock got up and checked his email and found a note from Lestrade -- it didn't really sound promising but it was something. He'd head over tomorrow to get more info. He decided to take a bath and then got into bed to read. He thought about John downstairs in C before he remembered that he wasn't even remotely interested in him. He thought about that instead. Sherlock lay there thinking about how much he wasn't interested in John Watson until he fell asleep.


	5. House Meeting 2

John's alarm went off and he groaned. He was sure he had only just fallen asleep as he was dragging himself out of bed. He freshened up and got dressed, having a quick breakfast before he had to leave. It seemed like a nice enough day so maybe he would walk.

In the morning Sherlock got up, showered and got dressed, the whole time thinking about how much better things were now that he wasn't thinking about John. He checked his email again, but there was still nothing new so he decided he'd head straight to Lestrade. Hopefully he'd have something complicated and messy that Sherlock could enjoy. He stood at the window finishing his tea when he saw John Watson come out of the building. God, that was so annoying -- he was trying to make Sherlock think of him despite the fact he'd spent all of last night and this morning thinking about how he wasn't going to think of John anymore. He set the mug on his desk, grabbed his coat and went out to the street to see what exactly this man was up to.

Sherlock followed John, keeping an appropriate distance behind him. He wondered if John was going to work -- he hadn't said which surgery he worked at. He didn't bother thinking about the fact that he was now headed away from meeting Lestrade.

John walked along towards the surgery, glad that it was nice enough to do so. It was the perfect chance to properly clear his mind of Sherlock before he got to work. He just couldn't figure that man out. As he was walking along, he saw a woman ahead of him, struggling with the bag she was carrying.

Suddenly the woman in front of John stumbled, and her bag ripped. She cursed loudly, and John hurried forward to help her clean up.  
  
"Thank you so much," she said.  
  
"Sure," John smiled. She was smiling at him, watching him more than watching what she was picking up. "Oh! Not that," he said, stopping her from grabbing up a wadded up newspaper from the pavement. She giggled and John smiled wider.

When Sherlock saw John approach the woman, he stopped and stepped behind a display outside a shop. He peeked around it, watching him and her. He didn't like the way she giggled.

"Are you heading far? Do you need help carrying anything?" John offered.

She smiled wider. "That would be great."

When the woman and John started to walk off, Sherlock rushed up to them. "Excuse me sir," he said, tapping John on his arm. "I'm afraid you'll have to come with me. Sorry, miss, but we've been looking for him for quite some time."

The woman gave John a strange look.

"No! This man . . . he lives in my building --" John said quickly.

"For your own safety, miss, please just continue on," Sherlock interrupted, pulling on John's arm.

"No, I -- Sherlock!" John tried pushing him away. "Wait -- wait!" But she was already gone. He wheeled around to face Sherlock. "What's wrong with you? What are you doing?"

"What am _I_ doing? What are you doing?" Sherlock asked. "I thought you were going to work and now. . . this?"

"Are you following me? I don't believe this," John turned around and headed for the surgery again, walking quickly.

"Pathetic," Sherlock muttered and headed back to the flat. It wasn't until he was almost there that he realised he was supposed to be meeting Lestrade. Great, John, had ruined that as well. He stomped up the stairs and sent an email asking Lestrade to just forward him the information. He made himself a cup of tea and sat down, but he felt like his mind was going a hundred miles an hour. He scribbled something on a piece of paper and went downstairs and taped it to John's door. Then he stopped at Mrs Hudson's and knocked.

"You look terrible," she said when she opened up. "What's wrong? What's going on?"

Sherlock tried to make his face neutral. "Nothing's wrong," he said in an abnormally calm voice. "I just bumped into John and he'd like to call another house meeting this evening at six. Can we do it in your flat?"

She looked around suspiciously but said, "All right. But I'm not cooking again -- I had to go out and buy all that food readymade last night."  
  
"I'm sure we don't need food," he said, turning to head upstairs.

"What's the meeting going to be about?" she called.

"I have no idea," Sherlock said. "I don't know what's going on here at all." And then he disappeared into the flat.

John looked back and saw Sherlock was heading the other way again. Was he leaving because he'd been caught or was the point just to ruin the chance at a date? Was he stalking and spying or awkwardly flirting? He shook his head and continued back to work. He was so distracted that he suggested a prostate exam on a woman. He tried to refocus after lunch, but it was impossible. He saw his patients as quickly as he could and as efficiently as he could before finally saying it was enough and heading home.

He walked again, looking around for any sign of Sherlock, but he didn't see him anywhere. When he got in, he picked off the note on the door and sighed. A house meeting? This was getting ridiculous! He went inside and changed his clothes, having just enough time to eat a quick snack. At exactly six he crossed the hall and knocked.

Sherlock headed down as soon as he heard the knock on Mrs Hudson's door. This time he pushed past John to go in first. He went straight to the kitchen and turned on the kettle, rushing to pour it into the pot. He carried the tray through and waited for everyone to sit down.

"So, John," Mrs Hudson started. "What's this house meeting about?"

"Yes, John," Sherlock interrupted. "What exactly is going on here?"

John looked between the two of them and furrowed his brow. "I -- there was a note on my door about the meeting. I didn't call it," he said. 

"I called the meeting," Sherlock interrupted again. "As neighbours we're supposed to trust each other -- it's an issue of safety really. And yet this man" -- he pointed at John accusingly -- "claimed only yesterday that he 'had no plans to date' but this morning I found him on the street accosting a woman, trying to get her to go out with him. What is that all about, Mrs Hudson?" 

Mrs Hudson had no idea what was going on so she said nothing. She looked over at John.

John blinked rapidly and stood up. "No. I'm not doing this. I'm sorry." He turned for the door and then stopped. He couldn't help himself. "You said you were going to stop spying and you followed me to work!"

"I did not follow you -- I was just walking, walking on a street in London as thousands of people do everyday," Sherlock said, standing up. "And why do you care if I was following you anyway? What does it matter to you?"

Mrs Hudson turned in her seat to watch the show.

"Because it's wrong! You can't just stalk people! No matter how bad at it you are, you try and get to know them! And why do _you_ care if I was talking to that woman?" John asked.

"Why did you say that about my asking you out if the first thing you were planning on doing is finding some woman to flaunt in front of me?" Sherlock said. "That's just . . . rude."

"You're not making any moves," John said simply. Even though he had no plan on dating that woman, he couldn't convince Sherlock of that so he might as well use it.

"I --" Sherlock started but wasn't quite sure what to say next.

Mrs Hudson interrupted, "John, trust me, he's interested."  
  
Sherlock whipped round and said, "Thank you, Mrs Hudson, we don't need any input from you."  
  
"You two are the ones who involved me in this!" she said in an irritated voice. She set her cup down. "This isn't fun for me anymore. Just come back in here, please."

Sherlock exhaled and turned, moving back to sit on the sofa.

"John?" she said, looking towards the door.

John swallowed hard and moved into the sitting room again. He remained standing, looking only at Mrs. Hudson.

She waited a few seconds, just to enjoy the moment. She looked at the two of them and knew they'd be quite lovely together if they both just stopped acting like idiots. "Sherlock," she said first. "Would you please stop acting like an idiot?"

He took a sip of tea. "I am not an idiot," he said calmly.

"I know you aren't, love, but you're acting like one," she said, wanting to smile at him but deciding not to. "Are you working on a case, I mean, have you got something to work on?"

Sherlock wasn't sure whether or not to insist that he wasn't acting like an idiot. "Not a case, but something from Lestrade," he said. "What's your point?"

"Why don't you and John work on it together?" she said. "If you're able to do that, perhaps we can all just get along nicely. And if you're not . . . well, I'm not holding any more house meetings, so if you can't work together, you just stay away from each other forever."

Sherlock didn't like the sound of that for some reason. "Let me think about it," he said. "Ask him if he'd want to do that."  
  
Mrs Hudson rolled her eyes but said, "John, would you be interested in giving that a try?"

"I don't know anything about police work," he said stubbornly. He picked at a thread on his jumper. "But . . . I suppose I'd be willing to try."

"It's not like police work," Sherlock said, not looking over at him. "It's . . . I can show you," he said quietly.

John licked his lips lightly. "Okay," he said gently.

"Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson said.  
  
"All right," he said. "If you both insist."  
  
"Sherlock Holmes, you're so frustrating," Mrs Hudson said. "Do you want to work with John or not?"  
  
"Yes," he said.

"Good," she said. "Now both of you -- get out of my flat."


	6. Working Together

John startled a bit, but he turned and left her flat, standing in the hall. Sherlock followed. "What are you going to show me?"

"Do you want to come up?" Sherlock said. "I've got some info and am waiting for the rest -- I could check now."

"Okay," he nodded. He turned towards the steps, but he waited for Sherlock to go first.

Sherlock headed up moving to the desk. "Make yourself comfortable," he said. "Seriously . . . I'm sorry about all that before," he mumbled as he focused on getting his email open as soon as possible.

John watched Sherlock at the desk for a moment. "It's okay," he said. He sat on the sofa this time.

Sherlock copied down a few things and brought the paper over, handing it to John. He let him skim it over. "I've got some . . . people who the police want me to speak to. Perhaps you could come with me?"  
  
John nodded. "I assume this will be the dangerous part, then?" he asked as he stood up. 

"Possibly," Sherlock said. "What do you think? Shall we go together?"

John nodded. "Yes, all right," he said. "Will I need anything?" he asked, thinking about his gun in the desk drawer. 

"I don't think so," Sherlock said. "We'll be fine." He grabbed his coat and then they walked down to John's to get his.

John put his coat on and followed Sherlock out to the pavement. "Are we walking? Is it close by?"

"Not far, don't be a baby about it," Sherlock said. He glanced over and smiled. He led them through the streets and eventually under a bridge where it was quite dark. He looked over and saw a man. He nodded at John and they walked over.

"Where's Wiggins?" Sherlock asked.

"What's it to you?" the man asked.

Sherlock tried to see the guy's face, but the man's hood hid it. He took a note out of his pocket. "It's twenty to you," he said, handing it to the guy. "Wiggins," he repeated.

The man stood up and started to walk away. Sherlock followed, but the man turned back. "Fuck off," he said.

Sherlock didn't feel okay about this. He didn't want John to get hurt, and quite frankly he didn't want to either.

John was already on guard when they walked up to the man under the bridge. He tried to look for any sign of a weapon and really wished he had ignored Sherlock and brought his own. When the man turned back and swore at them, John went into defensive mode without even realising it. He grabbed the man's arm and twisted it, kicking his leg out from under him when he cried out. "I believe my friend asked you a question."

The man whimpered. "You're breaking my arm!"

"Not yet," John said, pulling it just a little tighter.

The man looked towards Sherlock and called out again. "Call him off!"

"Where's Wiggins?" John asked again. 

"Through the door, there. Password's merry molly," he gasped. 

John let go of his arm and stepped back. "It's not broken. Maybe sprained at the most. Put some ice on it and you'll be back to normal in a week."

"You're fucking mental," the man said as he stood and took off. 

Sherlock felt a little giddy but said nothing. They walked to the side door and got let inside. Sherlock found Wiggins, and they got the information they needed. He turned to leave and Wiggins said, "You're not planning on thanking me?"  
  
"I gave it to your friend outside," he said. "Don't make things so difficult next time." He grabbed John's arm and headed back out through the door. They were alone under the bridge and Sherlock said, "Let's get out of here."

They walked back up to the street and the lights and other people. Sherlock's heart was still racing but not out of fear. "Were you flirting with me back there?" he asked.

"When?" John asked, looking up at Sherlock. He seemed excited. Or maybe not excited but . . . something that John couldn't put his finger on.

"Back then, when you were beating up a stranger," Sherlock clarified.

John grinned. "That wasn't me flirting with you. Did you like that?" he asked, stepping a bit closer.

"Maybe," Sherlock said. "Did you like when I was flirting with you?"

"Yes. I thought I made that obvious from the beginning," John said.

They walked back to the Baker Street. Once they got into the hallway, Sherlock said, "I'll pass the info on and see if they need anything else from us." He wasn't quite sure what to do now.

John watched him for a moment. "Do you need me for that?" he asked. "I work tomorrow."

"Did you like tonight?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "I'd like to help again."

"And do you like me now?"

John smiled softly. "You're growing on me."

That was felt like a satisfactory answer. Sherlock smiled back. "Well, good night," he said, heading up stairs.

"Good night, Sherlock."

Back in his flat, Sherlock tried not to think. He was still a bit wound up from what had happened so he just concentrated on the tension in his body. It was good. He undressed and climbed into bed, still filled with that feeling.

John turned and went into his flat, shutting the door softly. He noticed more mould on the door frame. He sighed and picked at it, really hoping it wasn't anything serious. But he wasn't going to let it bother him. He'd really enjoyed himself tonight, and he wasn't going to let a little fungus ruin it.

However, as he got ready for bed, to his annoyance, he saw more mould in the bathroom. He had been so excited about the location and the price of the flat that he hasn't looked too closely. Now he was regretting that. He would look for something to fix it in the morning. He went to bed, his mind racing about Sherlock and how the night had gone. Dangerous, but very exciting. Already he wanted to do it again.


	7. Mould And Romance

John fell asleep and, after what seemed like only minutes, he woke up with a splitting headache. He texted Sarah that he wouldn't be in before stumbling to the bathroom for pain medicine. His eyes found the mould again and he paused. Was that causing his headache?

He went to his computer and started to research, trying to find a picture of something that look similar. It all looked the same. Some of it was harmless, but other kinds could be really dangerous. Now he was panicking. This wouldn't do. If he couldn't get it inspected properly, he would have to move. He kept looking, eventually falling asleep at his desk.

In the morning, Sherlock felt like he was waiting -- waiting for John to come up or to hear his door open and Sherlock would go down, but to do what? He wasn't even sure. He just knew he wanted to be around him as soon as possible. But nothing happened. He didn't see or hear John. John had said he had to work today, but he hadn't left yet. Maybe Sherlock should go check on him? Yes, that's something friendly neighbours might do.

He made his way downstairs and knocked on John's door.

John jumped at the sound and sat up a bit. He was stiff, and his head was still hurting. He got up and slowly made his way to the door, pulling it open without any regard to his appearance.

"What's wrong with your face?" Sherlock asked, before realising it wasn't a great opening line after a first date, if that's what last night was. But it was too late, he'd already said it. "It's got . . . indentations or something all over it."

John touched his cheek and sighed. "I fell asleep at the desk," he said. He stepped aside to Sherlock could come in.

Sherlock stepped inside. "Why aren't you at work? You said you had work," he said, glancing around the place. He really didn't want to get suspicious again, so he stopped looking for clues that didn't exist and turned back to John.

"Oh, I'm not feeling very well," he said. He touched his head again and motioned for Sherlock to sit if he wanted.

"John, what's wrong? Is it because of last night?" Sherlock moved over to him. "If you're too poorly, do you want me to get Mrs Hudson to look after you? Or . . . you could come upstairs and I could look after you?"

"It's just a headache, don't bother her," John said quickly.

"It's no bother to me, John," Sherlock said and then wondered if he was being stupid. "I'm just going to be sitting around waiting for a case . . . you could come up and keep me company."

John realised that it wouldn't exactly help his headache, but he wasn't going to argue. Why should both of them sit alone? "Okay. Let me get changed," he said. He disappeared into his room and changed his clothes quickly, freshening up in the bathroom in case they had to leave for any reason.

"All right, just come up," Sherlock said and he rushed back to the flat. He put the kettle on and then cleared off the sofa.   He dug around until he found the television remote and set that on the cushion. He went to pour the tea as John came up.

"You can take the sofa, turn on the telly, whatever," he said as he brought the tea in. He was trying to play it cool even though he had no idea why or if he was succeeding.

John smiled and sat down on the sofa. He considered the remote for a moment before deciding against it for now. "I appreciate this, it's very nice of you." 

"Well, I am nice, don't forget," Sherlock said. "Do you need a pillow or blanket or pills or what?"

"No, I'm okay," John assured him. "The tea is fine."

"Okay," Sherlock said. "I won't harass you -- I don't want you telling on me to Mrs Hudson." He moved over and sat at his desk, opening his laptop. Before he logged on, though, he said, "Should I get you something to eat? You've not had anything to eat yet -- should I get you something?"

John looked over and bit the inside of his lip. "I am a bit hungry. Do you mind?"

"Of course not," Sherlock said, getting up and moving to the kitchen. He looked in the cupboards and then turned around. "I could make you a butter sandwich, some toast or some . . . bread."

John chuckled softly. "Toast will be fine," he said.

"Will do," Sherlock said, popping a few pieces under the grill. "Butter?" he asked.

"Yes please," John said. His headache was slowly fading now.

Sherlock carried a plate with buttered toast on it and sat down on the sofa, squeezing in by John. "Here you go," he said handing it to him. He leaned forward awkwardly and put a small kiss on John's arm. "Sorry," he said and stood up and moved to his chair.

"Uh . . . you missed," John said, looking over at him. "Come back and try again."

Sherlock's face reddened. "I don't want to get your illness," he said but stood up and moved over, leaning down and putting a small kiss on John's mouth.

"It's only a headache," John murmured. "Not contagious," he added before leaning in to kiss Sherlock again.

"All right," Sherlock said, pushing on John's chest. "You're supposed to be eating that toast." He was smiling. He stood up and moved back to his desk. He checked his email, still smiling.

John grinned as Sherlock moved away again. "Now you want to play hard to get?"

"Shut up," Sherlock said, smiling. He looked over his email. "Hey, your headache -- does that mean your brain's not working? I've got a possible case."

"It's actually feeling better here," he said. "What do you have?"

Sherlock jotted down some notes and brought them over. He explained a previous case that seemed similar. As he spoke, he watched John's face -- watched him listening and then understanding. He liked what he saw.

"Maybe tomorrow we could go check a few thing out together, if you're better," he said. He let his hand rest on John's arm. 

"Okay," John agreed. "I'll have to work, if I am feeling better, but I can be home fairly early."

"Look, if you slept all night at your desk, you probably need some rest. Maybe you should go home and have a nap?" Sherlock said. "Or . . . I mean you're here already, you could just nap here?"

"Mr Holmes, are you asking me to sleep with you?" he asked, grinning wide at him. "I didn't rest very well, honestly. That sounds good."

"Do you want me to nap with you?" Sherlock said in a surprised voice, even though that's precisely what he was hoping would happen.

John flushed. "I thought that was what you were offering . . . I don't want to be a bother," he said. 

"I'm looking after you," Sherlock said as if taking a nap with a patient was an obvious part of any treatment. "Get up now." He pulled on his arm. "You'll have to take your shoes off, I don't like shoes on the bed."

"Right," John said, pausing at the door to pull them off before following Sherlock to his bedroom. It was much tidier than the sitting room. "This is nice," he smiled. "Do you have a side preference?"

"I sleep on my stomach, I guess," Sherlock said.

John chuckled softly. "I meant on the bed," he corrected. 

"This is where I sleep," Sherlock said, sitting down on the side closest to the door. "You can lay there." He motioned to the other side.

"Okay," John said, moving around the bed and climbing up on it. He lay down on his back. After a second he let his head roll to the side to look at Sherlock. He smiled. "Your bed is comfortable."

Sherlock kicked off his shoes and lay down as well. "It is," he said. "I sleep here every night."

"It's more comfortable than my bed," John said. "I am just saying -- not for any reason. I'm just saying," he rambled a bit. He looked at the ceiling again. 

"Is that why you were sleeping at your desk?" Sherlock said. "Your bed must be really uncomfortable." He pushed John's arm a little and then remembered he wasn't fifteen years old, so he kind of held John's arm as he slid his body a little closer.

John swallowed hard and turned on his side so that, not only was he facing Sherlock, but he was a little closer as well. "I told you I was researching. But maybe next time I will just come up here instead."

"If I'm home, I'll consider letting you in," Sherlock said. "Should I kiss you?"

John was about to speak when his breath caught at the second question. "Yes," he murmured. But he was the one that closed the space and kissed Sherlock's mouth. 

"You keep kissing me," Sherlock said. "You're supposed to be napping."

"Of course," John said softly, but he wouldn't stop pecking Sherlock's mouth and jaw. 

"Have you got some kind of kissing problem?" Sherlock asked, pushing John onto his back. "Keep your mouth to yourself. You're in my house, John Watson." He leaned down and kissed him softly and then a little harder.

John tried to match his enthusiasm. "You're the one with the problem," he murmured between kisses.

Sherlock rolled back over to John's side. "Don't you like how I do it?" he asked quietly.

"Do what? Kiss me?" John asked. "Definitely. I want more of it," he said.

"Really?" Sherlock said. "I like how you do it, too." He put his hand on John's arm again. "But you are supposed to be resting. Let's close our eyes for a little while."

John licked his lips lightly and nodded, letting his eyes slip closed. His head felt so much better which led him to believe that it really was the mould in his flat that had been causing it. He tried not to think about that as he slowly drifted off to sleep, more tired than he thought he's been. 

Sherlock closed his eyes too but after a few minutes, he opened them again and looked over at John. How had this happened? They'd just been kissing -- that seemed mad. Sherlock hadn't kissed anyone in years. For a second it flashed in his mind that perhaps this had been an elaborate plan of John's, that perhaps he'd been somehow drugging Sherlock since the first day he moved in to somehow get him to let his guard down, all for some nefarious reason. But then he saw John's nose twitch a little and it looked kind of cute and he realised that the more likely explanation was that Sherlock simply fancied the pants off John Watson.

John didn't know how long he slept. He hadn't been kidding about Sherlock's bed being more comfortable, and when he woke up he felt more refreshed than any night on his own bed. He took a deep breath as he stretched, keeping his eyes closed so he could hold onto the moment a bit. If he opened them, he was worried it would all be over and he didn't want it to be. Not yet. 

"You woke up," Sherlock said, realising he had somehow developed the habit of stating the bleeding obvious. "I didn't kiss you while you slept," he added. "But I thought about it."

John opened his eyes and grinned when he saw Sherlock beside him. "Well, maybe you can make up for it now."

"No, I don't think so," Sherlock said, sitting up and swinging his legs over the bed. He bent down and put his shoes on. "You seem better -- do you feel better?" he asked as he did up his laces.

John sighed and pushed himself up as well. "Yes. I think it's the mould in my flat. It was better when I was here. I think I might have to move out," he said.

"What?" Sherlock said, turning to look at him. "Move? John . . . look, I'm sorry if I've behaved . . . wrong or whatever, but don't move out. If you want to just forget it all, we can but just . . . don't move out because of me."

"What?" John asked, completely thrown off. "No, Sherlock, it's the mould. I think it's making me ill," he said.

"In your flat?" Sherlock asked, processing all of what John said now. "Well . . . look, just, well, do something about it. Don't move out."

"Can it be removed? Online it said it was really difficult," he said.

Sherlock lay back and looked up at the ceiling. He was pretty sure John was right, but instead said, "I don't have a lot of experience with removing mould. I actually find it quite interesting. But if it's making you ill, you should look into it." He swallowed awkwardly and then added, "But don't move yet . . . you can stay up here if you want, while it gets checked out."

John's breathing went a bit shallow, but he forced his head to the side to look at Sherlock's profile. "I don't want to impose," he said. "I don't know how long it would take."

"Obviously," Sherlock said. "There's a room upstairs, you can take that and if we annoy each other, we'll make other arrangements." He thought perhaps he should try to sound less practical and more romantic, but was he inviting John for practical or romantic reasons? He wasn't entirely sure and hoped it might be both. 

John licked his lips lightly and thought about his options. He couldn't get another flat just while it was tested or removed. And staying in a hotel would be even more expensive. Staying with a friend was the most logical way to go. "Okay," he agreed. "Sherlock, thank you," he said. 

Sherlock smiled. "Good, now just . . . don't annoy me, okay?" He stood up. "Come on, we should go tell Mrs Hudson. Really it's all her fault anyway, maybe you should sue her? I think she's sitting on a load of money, squirreled away in all those tea pots on her shelves."

John stood up quickly. "I don't want to sue her! She mentioned the mould and I took the place anyway, it's my fault," he said.

"So it was all about me then -- you took a flat with mould simply to live in the same building as Sherlock Holmes and you're not even a criminal or spy?" Sherlock said, smiling as he threw a pillow at John. "You're not dangerous, you're just an idiot!"

"I did it because I have no money and it's close to work!" John laughed, throwing the pillow back at him.

"Right," Sherlock said. "Look, are you going to be able to handle staying in the flat as the object of your obsession? I don't want you to have some crisis or something."

"The crisis will be your murder if you keep it up!" John said.

Sherlock led them both down to Mrs Hudson's door. When she answered, Sherlock said, "I told you he was trouble . . . you'd better let us in for a chat."

"Will-you-cut-it-out!" John said, swatting Sherlock's arm with each word.

Mrs Hudson let them in, smiling at the way they were acting. They were still fighting, but she saw right through them. "What's this about then?" she said, moving over to put the kettle on.

John sighed softly, feeling a bit awkward now. "My flat . . . I think the mould is giving me headaches."

"What mould?" she asked in a surprised voice.

"Mrs Hudson . . ." Sherlock scolded.

"Well, fine, what are we going to do about it?" she asked.

"I'm going to have it checked out, to see if it can be removed or not," John said. "I can't stay there while they check."

"He's staying with me," Sherlock announced.

Mrs Hudson blinked at him. "And you're sure that's a good idea?" 

"He said there's another bedroom in case we feel like killing each other," John said. 

"Oh. And only then?"

"What are you asking, Mrs Hudson?" Sherlock said, even though he was well aware exactly what she was asking.

She glanced at him and then said to John, "I feel like killing him right now. If you need to escape from him, you come down here, okay?"

John smiled softly. "Okay," he agreed, glancing at Sherlock teasingly.

"Both of you are really trying my patience," Sherlock said.

"I was just agreeing with you!" John laughed softly. "We will leave, then."

"Yeah, we're leaving," Sherlock said, pulling a face at Mrs Hudson and then smiling genuinely. "Where are we going?" he said to John. 

"I was thinking back upstairs. If you want."

"All right," Sherlock said. "It seems like you'll probably want food at some point as well," he added.

"You could go out," Mrs Hudson said.

"Are you still here?" Sherlock asked.

"You're in my flat!" she said, pushing his arm.

"Right," he said, smiling again. "We're going." He and John left and walked back up to Sherlock's flat.


	8. A Proper Date

"Do you want to go out or what?" Sherlock asked John.

"Are you asking me on a proper date finally?" John grinned. 

"All right then," Sherlock said. "Before we go, though, you should go get some of your stuff. Maybe we should wash your clothes or something to get the mould out?"

"That's a good idea, but I can put a load in when we get back so it'll wash while we're sleeping."

"Okay," Sherlock said. "I might need to put new sheets on the bed upstairs . . . unless you want to sleep . . . downstairs."  
  
John looked over at him. "I assumed we would together, unless we were on the verge of murder," he smiled.

"We'll give it a try -- the sleeping part, not the murder part," Sherlock said. "Go get yourself sorted and I'll put the kettle on. We can go after we finish our tea."

John went back down to his flat and packed a small bag, just a few things to get him through the week. This was the strangest few days he had ever had. 

Sherlock put the kettle on and put two mugs out on the table. When John returned, he said, "The blue mug can be yours. Which means the brown one is mine. I like to keep my mug to myself, if you don't mind." As he poured the tea, he said, "You can take your things upstairs if you want. There's a wardrobe and drawers if you want to use them."

"I don't have much, I'll use the bag for now." He set it on the chair and picked up his mug, sipping lightly. "Is this crazy?"

"Probably," Sherlock said. "At the very least, it's unusual. But unusual isn't always bad." He smiled and took a drink of tea. 

John chuckled. "That's a really good answer. Okay," he nodded.

They headed out for dinner. Sherlock took John to Angelo's. He wasn't quite sure what to call him -- they were neighbors who had been enemies but then did some work together and kissed a little and now were sharing a flat -- so he just said, "This is John Watson" and left it at that.

"He really likes you," John smiled after Angelo fussed over Sherlock. This was a cozy little restaurant, he liked it already.

"Which is why he never makes me pay so order whatever you want," Sherlock said.

"Oh. Do you bring all of your dates here then?" he asked teasingly.

"I know you'll find this hard to believe," Sherlock said, taking a sip of wine from the glass Angelo had brought. "But I don't date much."  
  
"I don't find that hard to believe at all, only because you have said as much to me before." John tasted the wine and hummed softly. Usually he preferred a pint but this was very good. 

"I'm not really date material," Sherlock said. "Let's be honest." He looked over at John. He was handsome.

John smiled softly. "Only because you don't want to be. You're very handsome. And clever, I'm sure people would adore you if you let them," he said. "But, for the record, I'm glad you're letting only me."

"People don't adore me, John," Sherlock said. "I wonder why . . . you know . . ." he moved his hand between the two of them. "This . . . I wonder why."

"Why what?" John asked. He reached out and laced his fingers with Sherlock's. "Why I adore you?"

Sherlock looked up. "I meant -- wait, are you saying you adore me? That's a pretty big claim, young man," he said, smiling a bit.

John pulled his hand back self-consciously. "I just meant -- I mean, I fancy you. I thought . . . I mean, this is a date, don't forget," he rambled. 

"John Watson," Sherlock said. "You should not have your head so easily turned . . . I can't believe you adore me -- already? That's mad. Are you just desperate or something?" He made a silly face, like he was worried about John's mental health and/or taste in partners.

"Stop that!" John couldn't tell if Sherlock was joking -- he was making silly faces but his words were too close to home. He had a bad habit of moving too quickly in relationships. "Don't you like me too?"

"Obviously," Sherlock said, reaching over and touching John's hand awkwardly. "As you yourself said, I don't . . . . you know . . . with people but it's different with you." He felt his face redden and decided it was the wine rather than the ridiculous explanation of his feelings towards John. 

"I just don't want to mess this up," John admitted. Moving in with Sherlock could ruin everything before it started. What if he had a bad nightmare or one of his episodes? It was all new.

"Don't worry, John," Sherlock said. "There's no doubt I'll be the one to mess up. Ask Mrs Hudson. But perhaps your adoration means you'll give me a few chances." He smiled again and squeezed his hand this time.  
  
John squeezed his hand back. "Of course I will." The food arrived and John started eating, still holding Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock tried to use his other hand to eat but it felt weird so he let go of John's hand and tucked in, eating three bites and then setting the fork back down. He watched John eating enthusiastically. That would definitely be a change in the flat -- more food probably and the enthusiastic eating of it. He wondered what other changes would come and hoped that they would be tolerable. He didn't want to mess this up actually.

John glanced up and flushed lightly. "It's really good," he said, making himself slow down.

"John," Sherlock said. "I like you, okay?" He smiled again. "We're different in a lot of ways but there must be something, right, that's brought us together, right?" He finished off his wine and motioned for Angelo to bring him another.

John smiled. "Okay," he said. "I trust you. I feel it, too."

"Good. Shut up now and finish your food, I'm getting bored," Sherlock said, smiling as he pushed his plate to the side and drank more wine. Mrs Hudson would really love to know that he was actually enjoying this little date, but he decided he probably wouldn't tell her. 

John stuck his tongue out before going back to his meal, a bit more controlled now.

Once they were both finished, they decided to walk back to the flat. Sherlock was starting to feel a little nervous. He didn't regret anything, but he was beginning to worry that John would come to his senses and realise Sherlock was too odd or difficult or messy or whatever. He was also a little anxious about what might happen if they were both going to be sleeping in Sherlock's bed. He glanced over at him as they walked. "Are you thinking that we might have sex?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

John tripped up on the pavement a bit and glanced at Sherlock. "I, well, yeah, I was thinking about it happening -- at some point," he admitted.

"Well, I'm not asking you to sign a contract or anything," Sherlock said. "I just thought I'd mention . . . I don't have any condoms and since we're out, if there's a chance . . . perhaps we should stop in somewhere." He felt a bit stupid but was only trying to be responsible.

John nodded. "That's a good idea. I mean, even if we don't tonight . . . you know, just to have them close by."

"Okay," Sherlock said. They detoured in through Boots and picked up some condoms. Sherlock picked up a bottle of lube as well. He slipped the bag in his pocket and they headed out again. As they got closer to the flat, though, Sherlock started to feel a little anxious again. He took a deep breath as he unlocked the door and said, "I'm going to make us some tea." He took off his coat and dropped the bag on the table.

"Okay," John said, hanging his coat. "Don't be nervous, okay? Whatever happens," he said.

"I'm not nervous," Sherlock lied. He poured the tea and brought it into the sitting room. "Why aren't you nervous?"

"Well, I am a little bit, but I am trying not to be. I am trying to just . . . live in the moment."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and laughed. "You're putting me off with that talk," he said, taking a sip of tea. It actually seemed relatively comfortable with John here. He toed off his shoes and put his feet up on the table. 

John laughed softly. "Would you rather I talked dirty instead?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Do you do that?" he asked.

"If the moment is right. And if my partner likes that sort of thing," he said.

"Hmmm," Sherlock said. "Interesting. Anything else I need to know?"  
  
"I have two penises," John said, trying to stay serious.

"I see," Sherlock said. "And do they work simultaneously or do you use one as backup if the first gets too tired?"

John burst out laughing and swatted his arm. "Shut up," he said.

Sherlock laughed. "How am I supposed to know what you get up to?" he said. "I'm just trying to gather the facts." He took another sip of tea but laughed again and then started coughing a bit. "See? Now you're trying to choke me to death." He threw a cushion from the sofa over at John.

John laughed harder as he caught the pillow. "You should know when I'm teasing!"

"I don't always," Sherlock said a little more seriously. "I mean, I did then obviously, but I don't always. And I'm not sure people always know when I am. So just . . . so you know, I guess."

"I'm sure we will figure it out," John smiled.

"Fine," Sherlock said, setting down his mug. "Let's go to bed."


	9. Bed

John got up and followed him, putting the mugs in the sink first before doing so. Then he paused and went back for their purchase, putting it on the bedside table but not drawing attention to it. 

"I sleep in my pajamas," Sherlock said, starting to take off his clothes.   
  
"Okay," John said. "I don't, just a t-shirt and my pants. Will that be a problem?"

"Of course not, it doesn't matter to me," Sherlock said, sliding into the bed. "I don't know why I announced it in the first place." He looked up and smiled. "Hurry up and get in," he said impatiently.

"You're so romantic," John laughed softly, climbing into bed and under the covers. He turned and faced Sherlock, smiling happily at him.

"Let's kiss -- that's romantic, isn't it?" Sherlock said, leaning in and giving him a little kiss. "Good night then," he said, turning over quickly and making a loud snoring sound.

John smiled and called his bluff. "Night, then," he said, closing his own eyes and snoring even more loudly than Sherlock.

Sherlock turned back over and traced his fingers up and down John's back. "I'm glad you're here," he whispered.

John stopped his snoring at Sherlock's touch. "I'm glad I'm here too," he murmured. "Can I turn back around?" he asked. 

"If you want to," Sherlock said.

John turned slowly, slipping off his t-shirt. He pulled Sherlock's hand and pressed it to his chest.

Sherlock spread his fingers wide. He could feel John's heart beating. "You're alive," he said.

"Thank god," John smiled softly.

Sherlock leaned in and kissed John's mouth. He put his hand to the back of John's hand, deepening the kiss, letting his tongue meet John's.

John kissed back enthusiastically, his hand sliding up Sherlock's chest and to his neck and jaw, moaning softly as he moved his body a bit closer. 

Sherlock moved his hand to John's back, pulling him even tighter as they continued to kiss. He pushed one of his legs between John's, tangling them together.

John rode out the movement and got on top of Sherlock, holding himself up with one arm as they kissed and moved together. 

Sherlock looked up at John. "What's your plan?" he said, smiling widely.

John smiled and leaned down to kiss along Sherlock's jaw. He kissed up to his ear and nipped at the lobe. "I want you to fuck me," he murmured. He bit his lip, waiting to see how Sherlock would take that.

"All right then," Sherlock said. He moved a hand to John's hip, slipping his fingertips inside the elastic and pulling lightly. "Let's take these off," he said.

"You first, to catch up," he smiled, sitting on him properly to take Sherlock's shirt off.

Sherlock lifted up and let John take off his shirt. He kissed John's mouth before falling back onto the bed. His hands went to John's pants again, pulling lightly on them.

"Bottoms too, to be fair," John said, shifting out of reach again and smiling teasingly.

"Fine," Sherlock said, wiggling out of his. "But now I'm nude and you're not. Not equal." He tried to ignore the fact that his erection was inches away from John's bare thigh.

John shifted and took his pants off as well. When he straddled Sherlock again, he made sure their cocks touched, sliding together as he shifted to get more comfortable. He leaned down and kissed Sherlock's mouth. 

Sherlock kissed John back hungrily. His hands moved over John's back, one sliding down his body to grip his arse. He rocked his hips a little, moving their bodies.

John made a soft noise in his throat as he moved with Sherlock, panting softly as the kiss turned deeper, a bit messier. 

Sherlock turned their bodies just a bit, moving his hand to John's hip again, gripping it. Then he slowly moved it to John's cock, starting to stroke it as he continued to rock his hips. "Good," he mumbled. He kept kissing and touching and moving. Then he turned them completely, so he was on top. He pushed John's legs apart, squeezing one of his thighs a little. "Can you reach the bag?" he asked as he began to suck on John's neck.

John stretched his hand up and stretched, moaning softly as his fingers closed around it and tugged it onto the bed. "I can," he said. 

"You're very cooperative," Sherlock said. He tried to catch his breath a little. It'd be a while since he'd done this and he wanted to do it right. He tipped some lube into his hand and stroked John's cock a few times, putting soft kisses on his belly. Soon he was letting his hand slip between John's legs, exploring. He let his fingers trail over John's hole and after a few moments, he pushed a finger inside.

John moaned louder and bit his lip, holding the sheet tightly. "Sherlock, yes. . ." he mumbled.

Sherlock moved his fingers from John and then grabbed for a condom. He slid it on and then moved, pulling John's legs further apart. He lifted John's legs a bit and then pushed slowly inside him. He leaned over John, placing his hands on the side of each of John's shoulders and then began to rock. "Fuck," he said again.

John moaned loudly and moved up with Sherlock, tugging him down for a sloppy kiss. Sherlock kissed him back. His hips were moving in a faster rhythm. "Fuck, John," he grunted. "I won't last long."

John nodded, reaching down to stroke himself. He closed his eyes and focused on the pleasant stretch of being filled over and over again. Sherlock dropped his head and sucked hard on John's neck as he thrusted in a few more times before pushing himself over the edge, coming hard inside John. "God," he moaned loudly.

John called out, clutching at Sherlock's back as his other hand stroked quickly. He moaned Sherlock's name and came on both of them, arching and shuddering beneath him. 

"Fuck," Sherlock said, smiling and then laughing a little. "You . . ." He dropped down, kissed him and then rolled to his side. He made a little laugh. "God . . . that was fucking brilliant."

John nodded, panting to catch his breath. "Yes," he said. "Incredible."

Sherlock looked over at him. "Thanks," he said. "For . . . all that."

John smiled and shook his head. "No need for thanks," he said. "I enjoyed it too."

"Good," Sherlock said. He reached down and grabbed his t-shirt, handing it to John, before he crawled over him to get back on his side of the bed. "I need some water," he said, slipping his pajama bottoms on and moving out to the kitchen.

John cleaned himself up and tugged the covers up a bit more. 

Sherlock returned with two glasses of water, handing one to John. "You look comfortable," he said as he climbed back into bed.

"I am," John admitted. He sat up and drank his water before putting the cup on the bedside table and lying down again. 

"Good," Sherlock said, doing the same. "I'm tired now. I think I need to go to sleep. Is that all right?"

John nodded. "I should as well, I have work in the morning."

"All right then," Sherlock said, rolling over to get comfortable. "Good night." It felt a bit strange having someone in the bed with him -- unusual but not unpleasant.


	10. Progress

Sherlock slept a few hours and then woke up. He wasn't surprised John was there -- he remembered everything that had happened. He looked over at him sleeping. He was good. He slipped from the bed, went to the bathroom and then got a fresh glass of water. He got back into bed, closing his eyes and going back to sleep.

John felt around the bed when Sherlock got up, grumbling softly in his sleep. As soon as he was back, John was wrapped around him again. Maybe he should have mentioned that bit when they were talking about each other as flat mates. He kept sleeping soundly.

The next time Sherlock woke it was to John's alarm. John's arms were around him, so he pushed on one. "John, your alarm is going off," he said calmly. He really did not like that noise, though he quite liked John being close to him.

John shifted and reached over to turn off the alarm. After a minute he pushed himself up and, still naked, padded to the bathroom for a shower. 

"Put something on," Sherlock said, throwing his dressing gown at him. "It's chilly and Mrs Hudson sometimes comes in unannounced. Besides, your nudity is . . . appealing to me."

John ignored him and got into the bathroom. He showered and quickly and brushed his teeth, coming back to the bedroom with the towel wrapped around his waist. He tossed the dressing gown back to Sherlock and started to get dressed. "How appealing, exactly?" he asked. 

"Eight," Sherlock said. He was finishing off his glass of water from last night. "On a scale of ten. But that was before the shower. I've had time to think now and I think it's dropped to a seven point two." He smiled stupidly.

"Is that because of the towel? I can take it off," he grinned. 

"You'd better not," Sherlock said. "I'm not used to this sort of behaviour and I'm afraid it may push me over the edge." He got up from the bed and slipped on a new t-shirt before dramatically putting his dressing gown on. "So you're off to do 'doctor' work, eh?"

"Yes, I am. You're welcome to follow me again, if you like, but then you have to come in for an exam," John said, winking at Sherlock. He pulled the towel off before he started getting dressed. 

"I don't need an exam," Sherlock said. "I'm perfectly fine as I am. However, I will get to work on the mould problem so we can figure out what's going on with that." He went out into the kitchen and put the kettle on. The sunshine was coming in the windows and everything in the flat seemed very bright.

John smiled. "Trying to get rid of me?" he teased. He started making breakfast. 

Sherlock glanced over. "What do you mean?" he asked, a bit confused.

"I was teasing, because you're so eager to sort the mould," he said.

"Well, you seemed worried about it," Sherlock said. 'It's not good for anybody." He took a sip of tea.

John smiled. "It was making me sick. It'll be nice to have it sorted," he said.

"That's all I was talking about, just getting it sorted," Sherlock said. "I can leave it to you if you want but I thought you'd be busy saving lives and all."

John smiled and came over to Sherlock, kissing him softly. "You're right," he grinned.

"I usually am," Sherlock said. He carried his tea over to the desk and opened his laptop. "What time will you back, do you think, and could I please have your phone number in case I need to reach you for some reason?"

John smiled and took Sherlock's phone. "Text me so I have yours. I have to go." He kissed Sherlock again and left for work.

Sherlock watched John leave and then moved to the window to watch him out on the street. He quickly sent a text, watching to see John receive it.

_This is my number. SH_

John pulled out his phone and smiled as he saved the number. He glanced back and was surprised to see Sherlock at the window. He waved before hailing a cab and hurrying off.

At the surgery Sarah wondered what had happened, and John explained about the mould. She wondered where John was staying now and he said the neighbour was kind enough to share his flat until it was all sorted out. She gave him a funny look at that, and he realised that perhaps it all might be strange. But he didn't explain further. He merely shrugged and went to his office to start seeing patients. 

At the flat, Sherlock checked his email and had one from a possible client so made an arrangement to meet her later in the afternoon. Then he went down to Mrs Hudson's.

"How's it all going up there?" she asked as she pulled open the door.

He didn't like the look on her face -- it looked too eager. "It's fine," he said, stepping in. "I've come down to see what we're going to do about the mould."

"I thought it was going well. What's the hurry?" Mrs Hudson said, following him into the kitchen. She put the kettle on.

"If there's mould, you have a responsibility to all your tenants to get it taken care of," Sherlock said, sitting down.

"Fine, I'll get my nephew in," she said. She looked over him. "So . . . you look . . ."  
  
"Please don't finish that sentence," he said.

"Well-rested," she said. "Did you have a good night's rest then?" she added, smiling wickedly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said. "Are you really going to take care of it or not?"

"Fine, spoil sport," she said, standing to pour the tea. She set his mug down and went in the other room to dig her nephew's card out. She picked up the phone and rang him.

Sherlock listened to her side of the conversation as he drank his tea. When she hung up, he said, "That wasn't quite an accurate portrayal of the situation. It's bad enough to have made John ill."

"He'll see it when he gets here," she said, sitting back down next to him. "So John . . . he's feeling better then? Upstairs? With you? Everyone's happy?"

"Is your nephew coming today then?"

She frowned. "Yes," she said. "You're no fun, Sherlock Holmes."

He finished his tea and stood up. "I have work," he said and took off back upstairs. He grabbed his phone.

_Your flat will be inspected later today. SH_

_Should I come home for that? I might be able to get off early. -JW_

_No need. SH_

Sherlock checked his email again and then took a shower and got dressed. Around four, Sherlock headed out to meet the client. When he walked downstairs, he saw Mrs Hudson loitering around the door to C so he presumed that her nephew was checking it out. Hopefully it would be taken care of soon.

When he was done for the day, John walked back to the flat, wondering if he should pick up dinner. He decided not to, waiting to see what Sherlock would want to do. He almost went into his own flat out of habit before remembering and heading upstairs. "Sherlock?" he called, but there was no answer. He looked around but didn't find him. He stood in the little kitchen, feeling a bit odd being here alone, like he was intruding. 

Sherlock headed home. The client was annoying, but it was a case and he was happy to have it. The door to C was shut as he passed and he wondered what had come of it. He headed upstairs.

When he let himself in, John was standing by the table. "Tea?" Sherlock asked as he hung up his coat and scarf.

John turned and realised he hadn't moved from the kitchen since he'd come in. "I . . . where did you go?"

"An appointment," Sherlock said, sitting down on the sofa. Then he realised there was no tea on the go, so he stood up and walked past John to put the kettle on. "Any word from Mrs Hudson?"

"Like, at the doctor?" John asked. "Are you okay?"

"What?" Sherlock asked. "No, I wasn't at the doctor. I don't get unwell." He poured himself a cup of tea and then noticed John didn't have one so he poured another and handed it to him. "So have you spoken to Mrs Hudson?" he asked as he moved over to his desk.

"But where did you go?" he asked. "She hasn't been up, no."

Sherlock was scanning the news headlines. "The art museum," he mumbled. Then he looked up and saw that John was still standing there, looking at him. "I had an appointment with a client," he explained. "Is something wrong?"

"Well, you just tried lying to me," he said, hinting at the museum line. "Why didn't you just tell me where you'd gone? I came home from work and just felt . . . odd, I suppose. I thought I would see you."

"I wasn't lying," Sherlock said. "I met the client at the art museum." He felt a bit confused. "I didn't realise I had to tell you every place I went. I'm sorry."

"Well, you don't . . . I just . . . I didn't expect you to be gone when I got back and I'm still getting used to being here, I guess. It's easier when you're home too. Sorry," he added, knowing how silly he sounded. 

Sherlock thought about it and what John said kind of made sense. He stood up and moved over to his chair. "Finish your tea and we can go talk to Mrs Hudson," he said. "Was work okay?" he added, hoping that he hadn't ruined everything.

"Yeah," John said. He moved and sat down, feeling a bit awkward. "I wonder what they found."

Sherlock smiled. "She got her nephew to do it, but he can be trusted," he said. "Look, I'll have some research to do tonight -- just here at the flat -- is that going to be all right with you?" He felt strange asking, and hoped it wouldn't always be like this, but he didn't want to make John uncomfortable.

"Of course," John said. "I'm sorry about before," he added.

"Well, whatever, let's not make a fuss," Sherlock said. "I said you could stay here, so that means you're fine to stay here. I mean . . . I wouldn't have invited you here if I didn't think it was all right for you to be here, okay?"

"I know," John said, feeling even stupider now. "I just have to get used to it, I guess. To remember this isn't a stranger's flat anymore, but sort of mine as well."

"John, shut up now," Sherlock said, smiling as he stood up. "This conversation is becoming ridiculous. We're both here now. If one of us goes out, we'll let the other one know -- like you did about going to work. Let's not make such a fuss. Let's so see Mrs Hudson."

"Okay, okay," John said, trying to put it out of his mind.

"Hey," Sherlock said, grabbing him lightly. He put a kiss on his cheek. "Hi," he said shyly and then headed towards the door.

John grinned stupidly as he followed Sherlock. "You're very sweet," he said.

"Take that back," Sherlock said.

"I will not," John said.

They went downstairs and Sherlock knocked on Mrs Hudson's door.

"So are you trying to kill Dr Watson or what?" he asked immediately when she opened it.

"Shut up you," she said, turning around to let them in. She moved to the kitchen and turned the kettle on. She put some biscuits on a plate and motioned for them to sit.

John sat and looked at Mrs. Hudson. "Any word?" he asked.

"Well, there is mould," she said.

"We knew that," Sherlock said.

She ignored him. "It'll be a few days, I'm afraid. He's got to do some tests but he will get rid of it, no matter what." She brought the tea over and sat down with them.

"Is there a chance it's deadly?" Sherlock asked. "You've been putting all of us at risk. No wonder my hair's been falling out."  
  
"It's not deadly . . . I don't think," she said. "And your hair's fine. You've got beautiful hair."

"It used to be but now . . ." he pulled a few pieces out and lay them in front of her.

"Sherlock, stop being stupid! This is serious, it's going to be expensive," she said.

"No, it won't be. Your nephew will give you a discount and think of all the money you'll save since John and I will have no reason now to sue you," Sherlock said, taking a sip of tea. "I can help," he added quietly.

John pushed away the hair and then kissed the top of Sherlock's head. "He's sweet," he told Mrs Hudson.

"Sometimes," she said, smiling widely at them both.  
  
"I am not," Sherlock said, pushing John away a little. "I won't have the two of you ganging up on me."

John smiled and sat down again. "I moved in even though I knew about the mould so I can help too, if I can."

"Fine," Sherlock said. "That's sorted. John'll stay upstairs until it's done." He took another sip of tea.

They chatted a few more minutes and then Sherlock said, "I've got some work to do." He stood up. "You can come up whenever." He made a move to leave.

When they went back upstairs John worked quietly on his computer so that he wouldn't bother Sherlock, eventually starting a movie with headphones in to pass the time. When Sherlock finished, John found something on the telly instead that they could watch together.

Sherlock made some tea and brought it over to the sofa. "Do you work tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yeah I do," he said.

"Are you going to sleep in that room . . . or in mine?"

"I was thinking yours," he said.

"All right," Sherlock said, smiling a little and slouching down on the sofa. He put his feet up on the table. "What are we watching then?"

"I just turned the news on," John said, settling a bit close. After a second, he leaned over on Sherlock.

Sherlock let John rest against him. They watched television for a while and then Sherlock said, "I'm ready for bed." He didn't move yet though.

"Yeah, I should go as well. I have to get up early again." He stretched before he stood and took the mugs to the sink.

Sherlock stopped into the bathroom and then made his way to the bedroom. He changed into his pajamas and climbed into bed. "I'll get up when you do," he said. "I've got to go out and do some research."

"Okay. I'm sorry it's so early," John said as he climbed into bed. It was strange -- when Sherlock was home, living in this flat felt perfectly normal, despite not their knowing each other very long. He was comfortable around Sherlock.

Sherlock turned off the lights. It was quiet in the room. He lay there silently for a few moments and then turned on his side, curling around to spoon John. "Good night," he said quietly.

John curled back, pressing against Sherlock and holding his hand in front of his stomach. "Good night, Sherlock."


	11. News About John's Flat

In the morning Sherlock woke to John's alarm, and they both got up and started their days. It became a little easier for both of them to adjust to being in the same flat: Sherlock tried to remember that John should at least have an idea when he was out and when he'd be back and John tried to remember that he technically wasn't a guest. They got into a routine, and Sherlock found that he kind of liked knowing John would be there each night, to listen to him complain or talk through a case or to sit with him quietly if he was working. It was kind of nice in a way Sherlock hadn't expected at all.

John was getting so used to being in Sherlock's flat, and even more was starting to like it so much, that he was forgetting he had his own flat to worry about. Between the cozy nights in, the heated nights in Sherlock's bed, and their blended routine, he was kind of hoping his flat would remain uninhabitable forever.

One afternoon, Mrs Hudson came up to the flat.

"Is John in?" she asked.

"No," Sherlock said. "He's still at work."  
  
"Okay," she said, turning back towards the door. "I'll come back when he gets home."  
  
"What's going on?" Sherlock asked.

"Just some news about his flat, he'll be able to move back in a day or two," she said, watching his face. "I'll come back tonight when he's home to give him all the details."

"We're out tonight," Sherlock said though he had no idea why, since it was a lie. "Maybe tomorrow you could tell him?"

She looked over at his face, seeing his brain working, trying to understand whatever it was he was feeling. "All right," she said. "Tell you what. You send John down whenever he has time to talk."

"Okay," Sherlock said. He lay down on the sofa after she left. He suddenly felt a bit ill.

John came home with dinner, going straight into the kitchen to serve the food. He was starving. "Hello Sherlock," he called out, nibbling on chicken as he got everything together.

"Hello John Watson," Sherlock said, sitting up. "Was work all right?"

"Yeah, it was okay. Bit busy," he said.

"Good," Sherlock said. He made his way over to the kitchen and picked at some of the food with a fork.

"How was your day?" John asked.

Sherlock told John about some work he'd done earlier in the day. He liked that John was recognising some of the names he mentioned -- John rolled his eyes whenever Sherlock said Anderson's name and he hoped John could come out with him on a case again one day.

After they ate, Sherlock said, "Were you wanting to do something tonight? Did you have plans or anything?"

"I don't have plans or anything," he said. "Do you? If not maybe we could go for a walk or something."

Sherlock didn't want to risk bumping into Mrs Hudson. He didn't really have a plan -- he wasn't even entirely sure what to make of his reaction to her news -- but he didn't want to do anything until he had a little time to think about it. "Let's have an early night," he suggested. "We could watch a film in my room if you wanted."

"Oh, all right," he nodded. "That'll be nice."

"Yeah, it will be," Sherlock said, moving to make sure the door was locked. He started turning off lights and then grabbed his laptop. "Yeah, it'll be good," he repeated and then felt stupid for doing so. He took the laptop into the bedroom and grabbed some pajamas. "I'm going to use the bathroom," he said and rushed in.

John watched Sherlock curiously as he changed out of his work clothes and put on his t-shirt. He climbed up on the bed and waited for Sherlock. 

In the bathroom, Sherlock washed his face and looked at himself in the mirror for a moment. He was still the same Sherlock Holmes, wasn't he? He felt different, everything felt different. He wasn't sure what it all meant. He took a deep breath and went into the bedroom. "You can choose," he said, pushing the laptop towards John as he climbed into bed.

"It was your idea," John smiled, pushing it back. He was curious about Sherlock's taste, curious to see what he would pick. 

Sherlock clicked on a film website and then clicked on the first one at the top of the page. "This one," he said, snuggling down to watch. After a few minutes, he realised it was a children's movie and appeared to be utterly stupid. He wasn't sure what to do. "Unless you've already seen it?" he asked.

John was trying to keep his cool while the film started but lost it when Sherlock asked his second question. He laughed and leaned on Sherlock's shoulder. "Show me something you like!"

"You'll find it boring, John," Sherlock said. "You like films more than I do . . ."

"I won't find it boring," he said. "I am curious about your likes."

"All right," Sherlock said, pulling the laptop towards him. "I sometimes watch these documentaries about old crimes." He found the website and clicked on the most recently uploaded. "I haven't seen this one yet so I won't know who did it. If you figure it out before me, don't tell," he said, glancing over and smiling.

John smiled and settled closer to him. "I won't tell," he promised. 

"They're not too gruesome," Sherlock said. "If you get scared . . . tell me." He smiled and put his arm around John.

John smiled and watched the film, cuddling close to Sherlock.

Towards the end of the documentary, Sherlock whispered, "Have you solved it?"

John hummed softly and shook his head. "You?"

Sherlock turned his head and looked at him. "Obviously," he grinned, a little too proudly.

They went back to the film. When it finished, Sherlock closed the laptop and put it on the ground. "I was right," he said as he lay back down facing John. He trailed his finger down John's chest. "Let's have sex," he said softly.

John smiled fondly at Sherlock's gloating, leaning in to close the space between them. He kissed Sherlock's mouth, licking into his and deepening the kiss. 

Sherlock kissed him back as his hand dropped to grip his hip. "Do you like this?" he said, before kissing him again. "With me, I mean?"

John nodded, his hand resting on Sherlock's jaw as they continued kissing. "I do."

"Do you like staying here?" Sherlock asked as he dropped his head and sucked lightly on John's neck. His hand moved to between John's legs and he held his cock through his pajamas.

"I do," John moaned, arching into his hand. His breath came a bit heavier now.

"I like it too," Sherlock breathed against John's neck. He started to slowly move his body down the bed, lifting his shirt and kissing his belly. When he got lower, he pulled on John's pajamas, freeing him, and stroked his cock a few times before sucking it into his mouth.

John moaned loudly, lacing his fingers into Sherlock's soft hair.

Sherlock covered John with kisses and licks and then sucked him down again. His other hand moved down to John's thigh, squeezing the muscle there. He felt his own cock harden and his whole body start to warm before finally moving up John's body to kiss his mouth again. He stretched over and got the lube and a condom out of his drawer before kissing his mouth hard again.

John kissed him back with equal hunger, moaning and holding his head and body close.

Sherlock spilled some lube into his hand and slid it down between John's legs. He moved over top of John, pushing a finger inside and he continued to kiss his mouth.

John moaned and moved into his hand in slow rolls, the kisses becoming breathless and heated.

Sherlock kept a steady rhythm of his hand, his hips and his kisses. Soon he shifted and slid on a condom, pushing slowly inside John. He did his best to watch John's face as he did and it looked as beautiful as it felt. He dropped down and kissed him again.

John kissed Sherlock messily as he focused on Sherlock filling him so completely. It was perfect. He pulled his legs back a bit to feel him deeper, moaning softly. "Feels good," he moaned. 

"I want it to feel good," Sherlock moaned. He moved slow and deep into John, feeling every movement. "God. . ." he exhaled.

"You too . . . do you feel good?" John asked, kissing his mouth again. He shifted them, flipped Sherlock, and moved on top of him.

"John," Sherlock said. "I do feel good, I do." He gripped John's hips, watching him move over him.

John lifted and lowered, changing it up with rolling forward and backward sometimes, reaching down to stroke himself. He leaned down and kissed Sherlock again. "M'close," he said as he started moving a bit faster. 

Sherlock gripped the back of John's head to hold him there. "Show me," he said, moving his own body even faster.

Sherlock's movement pushed John over the edge. With his forehead pressed to Sherlock's, his mouth fell open in pleasure as he came between them. 

Watching John and feeling his orgasm felt so good to Sherlock and he called out as he came, before squeezing his arms around John, pulling him even closer.

John shifted to watch Sherlock's pleasure take over him. He curled close to him and stayed on top of him, holding him tightly as he tried to catch his breath.

"This is good," Sherlock exhaled, pressing his mouth against the side of John's head. He didn't say more but he meant much more.

John nodded, taking a few minutes to catch his breath. Then he lay with his head on Sherlock's shoulder and his arm around his stomach. "Perfect," he said. 

"I'm ready for sleep," Sherlock said, curling a little towards him. "You exhaust me," he said, smiling lightly.

John chuckled softly. "I'm not sorry."

"Do you have to work in the morning?" Sherlock asked drowsily.

"No, I'm off," he murmured sleepily.

"Maybe we could . . . maybe we could spend the day together?" Sherlock said softly.

John smiled sleepily. "I would like that," he said.

Sherlock fell asleep to that thought. He didn't dream -- he rested soundly.

John listened for Sherlock's breathing to deepen and steady before falling asleep himself. Without an alarm he stayed that way through morning.


	12. 221B Baker Street

When Sherlock woke up, he looked over at John. He was glad he was still here. "Hey," he whispered. "Do you want to keep sleeping or do you want to get up?"

John, still deeply asleep, didn't hear him and kept on snoring softly. 

Sherlock watched him sleep for a while. He touched his hair a little and then put a little kiss on his lips. Then he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep himself.

John shifted at the soft kiss, his brain slowly reminding him that he was off work, he was in Sherlock's bed, and they had the whole day together. He blinked his eyes open and was met with Sherlock's back. He leaned over and lightly pressed his forehead between Sherlock's shoulder blades, testing to see if he was awake. 

"I'm sleeping," Sherlock said. "I tried to fuss you but you slept right through it." He reached round and grabbed John's hand. He pulled it around him, lifting it to his mouth to give it a soft kiss and then bit his thumb playfully.

"Perhaps you should have fussed harder," John grinned, kissing his back before nipping at the skin. 

"I can't live up to your unrealistic expectations," Sherlock said, shrugging and pushing himself back against John.

John chuckled and kissed his shoulder blade now. "I'm sure you can -- you're brilliant, after all."

"I hope I can," Sherlock mumbled a little. "Keep kissing," he instructed.

John smiled and kept pressing kisses to random parts of his back, moving from one shoulder to the other slowly. 

"That's nice," Sherlock said, squeezing John's hand. "You're kind of good at that."

"Kissing you? I could do it all day," John smiled, nipping softly again.

Sherlock turned over and kissed John's mouth. "It's tempting, but I need the toilet so you're going to have to kiss yourself," he said, pulling away and sitting up.

John brought his arm up and kissed his own forearm. "Hmm. Not as good, I'm afraid."

Sherlock pulled a face at him and got up, slipping his dressing gown on, before heading to the bathroom. "Put the kettle on, would you?" he called.

John yawned and stretched as he sat up, slipping on his pants and t-shirt before padding to the kitchen to start the kettle.

Sherlock opened the bathroom door and said, "Actually I'm going to have a shower so wait a few minutes to pour mine, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay," John called back. He poured his own tea but regretted it when he went to get the milk. There wasn't any left. He glanced at the bathroom door and figured he could just dart out quickly before they started their day together. He got dressed and made sure he had his wallet before hurrying to the shop on the next street. He picked up the milk and headed back, hoping to make it before Sherlock got out of the shower. As he walked in, he nearly bumped into Mrs Hudson.

"Oh! Hello, John," she said, smiling wide at him.

"Hello," he said. He glanced at his flat but didn't ask about it. He was sure she would say when it was ready.

"Things must be going well up there, then? Better than when you first moved in?"

John flushed lightly but nodded. "Uh, yeah. It's great," he said.

"No wonder you don't want to go back to your flat -- look at your smile," she said.

"Well, I can't go back, can I?" he said.

Mrs Hudson tilted her head. "Well, you could, dear, the mould is all cleared out. I told Sherlock yesterday," she added.

"Oh," John said in surprise.

"He didn't mention it?" she asked, barely suppressing a smile.

"He might have. We were watching a film so I might have missed it," he said vaguely. He passed her and headed up the stairs, his mind racing. If the flat was ready, why didn't Sherlock say anything? But he hardly had to think about it -- the answer was obvious. He wanted to stay here with Sherlock. And it seemed Sherlock wanted him to stay here as well. John smiled. He had an idea.

The hot water felt good on Sherlock's body, which ached in new ways. He was doing things he hadn't done in a long time, and he didn't mind the aches at all. When he got out of the shower, he slipped back into the bedroom and got dressed before coming back into the kitchen. John was standing there with the mugs in front of him. He grabbed one and gave him a proper kiss good morning.

John smiled up at Sherlock and sipped at his tea. "I have news," he said, watching Sherlock closely.

"Yeah?" Sherlock asked. "What?"

"I've just seen Mrs Hudson -- I had to nip out for milk," he said.

Sherlock stood still for a moment. He knew he had three options: he could act like he had no idea what she must have told John or he could lie and say he just forgot to mention it last night or he could tell the truth and say he didn't bring it up because he didn't want John to go. He had no idea which was the right choice. He was supposed to be thinking about this last night but they watched the movie and then there was sex and then he was sleepy and today they were supposed to be together all day and that's why he hadn't thought about it yet this morning. And that's when Sherlock realised he had a fourth option which was to stand there stupidly saying nothing and apparently that was the option he was going for.

John almost smiled. He could practically see the panic running through Sherlock's mind. "It turns out . . . my flat is uninhabitable. Deadly poison. I can't go back," he said.

Sherlock stayed still trying to think. Is that what Mrs Hudson had said or was John teasing and why? "Is that so?" he asked awkwardly.

"Yes. Bit unfortunate," he said vaguely, still watching Sherlock closely.

Sherlock tried to read John without seeming too obvious. "I see. . . so you'll need to find another place then?"

"That's what it looks like," he nodded, looking around the kitchen where they were still standing.

"Well, that changes everything now, doesn't it?" Sherlock said. He turned around so John couldn't see his face. "I suppose that means you owe me some money now, right?"

"Some money?" John asked, a bit confused now. 

"Yeah, I mean, I invited you here as a temporary measure for a friend," Sherlock said, turning the kettle back on. "Now it turns out I'm sheltering a homeless person so I'm afraid I'll have to charge you for the days you've stayed." He turned back around, grinning at John. "My fees are fair but I will need to see some cash if you're planning on staying."

John sighed with relief when he saw Sherlock's face and grinned back at him. "I suppose I will see what I can put together," he said. "How long have you known you wanted me to stay?"

"I just -- I just knew I wanted you to stay," Sherlock said. "I like having you here. It's unusual . . . but I like it." 

John moved closer to Sherlock and touched his cheeks, holding him softly. "You needn't have worried. I wanted to stay as well," he said.

"I wasn't worried . . . it's just, well, you're normal, aren't you but I'm . . . not," Sherlock said. He pulled a little face and turned round to pour himself some more tea.

"You're not normal," John agreed. "You're extraordinary," he said, hugging Sherlock from behind.

"Obviously," Sherlock said. "But extraordinary is not normal." He turned around and faced him. "I can't change who I am -- I wouldn't even if I could -- but I want it to be okay for you here. And for me too. Let's try it, okay?"

"All right," John said. He looked around. "So it appears I live at 221B Baker Street now."

"Yes," Sherlock said. "And I'm very glad you do."


End file.
